


Inclement

by Scribe



Category: due South
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-10
Updated: 2014-01-10
Packaged: 2018-01-08 05:05:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1128670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scribe/pseuds/Scribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At least Vecchio was dressed for the weather.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inclement

**Author's Note:**

> For Seascribe in fandom stocking 2013-14. Thanks to fiercynn for betaing!

Ray'd meant to get new gloves. He really, really had, but there never seemed to be time, and he wasn't really sure where to get a good pair of gloves anyway, ones that were thick and lined and warm enough that he wouldn't always be missing the pair Fraser had loaned him on the Quest, so he hadn't gotten around to it. He hadn't expected winter to close in so soon. He _really_ hadn't expected to be stuck on Jerry Fermano's back porch, huddled with Vecchio in the sleet and snow.

It hadn't been a bad plan. They were supposed to sneak in while Fermano was out, get the evidence they needed, and sneak back out again. It would have gone fine, too, if Fermano hadn't decided to come home on his lunch break. He'd come in, chatting loudly with Dom Barricelli- and that threw Ray for a loop, made him wonder if they were on the wrong track altogether, because what the hell was the connection between the two of them- and he and Vecchio had glanced at each other and bolted for the sliding doors to the porch.

"Well, this is pleasant," muttered Vecchio. Ray just made a wordless sound of disgust.

There was maybe an inch of new snow on the ground from that morning, but it was rapidly turning to slush under the sleet that was pelting them, wet and stinging where it hit Ray's unprotected face. They were pressed up against the side of the house next to the sliding doors, but it didn't help much; the wind was coming right at his face, and the wall against his back was just as wet and cold as everything else.

At least Vecchio was dressed for the weather. He was wearing that long wool coat that Ray always made fun of because it honestly looked like a bathrobe, right down to the sash around the waist, but at least it covered Vecchio down to his knees. Ray's own jacket was doing an okay job keeping his torso warm, but not much else. Vecchio had a knit hat, too, which he was pulling down over his ears, and a thick green scarf that he was pulling up over his mouth. And gloves. God, Ray wished he had gloves. He jammed his hands deep into his jacket pockets, but it didn't help much.

"What, you didn't even bring a hat?" Vecchio asked.

"Don't like 'em," he said. Vecchio narrowed his eyes.

"Don't tell me, you're afraid they'll mess up your hair." Ray shrugged, tucking his chin down into the collar of his jacket.

"All right, I won't tell you."

"You're so vain, Kowalski."

"I wouldn't expect you to understand. You haven't had a hairstyle since ninety-four."

Vecchio nudged him with his shoulder, an echo of the shove he would've gotten if they hadn't been trying to keep quiet and out of sight.

"Well, your ears didn't fall off in Canada, so you must have been wearing one at some point. Fraser make you?"

"That was different." 

When you'd been out on the snow for weeks, a million miles from civilization, that stuff wasn't important anymore. Of course you got dirty and chapped and smelled bad and grew scruffy beards and long, flattened hair. None of it mattered. It felt like a different planet, or like maybe he'd dreamed it, that strange white world where he'd been so certain and so wrong. It was nothing like the freezing backyard of a smalltime Chicago gangster, traffic rushing by on the other side of the fence and Vecchio huddled beside him.

It felt colder than it had been on the Quest, too, even though he knew that was stupid. It wasn't even cold enough to snow properly. Ray took his hands out of his pockets and blew on them, not that it really helped. They could just go in and arrest Fermano for what they'd already found, but they were close to something bigger, and there was no point in spooking everybody further up the food chain for a small fish like him.

"Are they gone yet?" he asked. "What the hell is Dom Barricelli doing here anyway?"

"Beats me," said Vecchio. He leaned out a little to look through the glass doors, then made a choked noise and pressed back against the wall.

"What is it?"

"You look," said Vecchio.

"And double the chance they'll catch us peeking?"

"They won't notice, trust me." Ray gave a mental shrug and leaned around Vecchio to, wow, get a hell of an eyeful.

"Oh," he said faintly, settling back into his spot. 

"Explains Barricelli's connection, at least," said Vecchio.

"Yeah, I guess. Did you know Fermano was gay?"

"Do I look like the authority on mob gossip to you?'

"Well, yeah. I thought that was why they paid you the big bucks." 

Vecchio elbowed him, but Ray was secretly pleased. It had taken a long time for Vegas to be something they could joke about. He didn't push it, but even that little bit meant something big for Vecchio, and he was glad.

They stood in silence for a while, getting steadily wetter. At this rate the sleet was going to mess up his hair even more than the hat would have. Vecchio glanced inside again and winced.

"I really never wanted to see that much of Fermano," he muttered.

"And in the kitchen, too," said Ray. "I really hope they Lysol that table afterward."

"Ugh, me too."

Ray tried breathing some warmth into his fingers again, then seeing if he could somehow tug the sleeves of his jacket down over them- nope, too short.

"Oh, for god's sake," said Vecchio, fumbling with his coat. He got the sash untied, but had to take off his gloves and shove them in a pocket to get the buttons undone. Ray blinked at him.

"What?" he said, intelligently.

"Here, give me your hands," said Vecchio, taking them before Ray could do much of anything and tugging him in close. His hands went around Vecchio's back under the coat, a little pocket of dry space, and Vecchio reached around him to tug his gloves back on like it was no big deal at all. Ray's heart was suddenly in his throat. That meant something, it had to; Fraser might have warmed Ray's hands with his own body heat and not meant anything by it, but not Vecchio. Vecchio was a real Chicago cop, just like Ray, he knew all the unspoken rules about how you could touch guys and how you _couldn't_ , not if you didn't want to send a very particular message.

Ray shifted a little, checking that he couldn't be seen from the house, and settled in close where his body would block most of the wind and sleet from the open front of Vecchio's jacket. He was mostly looking over Vecchio's shoulder, but from what little he could see out of the corner of his eye- and between Vecchio's hat and his scarf, which didn't leave a lot of room to read facial expressions- he looked utterly calm, like he stood in casual almost-embraces with other cops every day. His sweater was scratchy under Ray's hands. 

It was a good thing they weren't hiding inside, because there was no way Ray wouldn't get hard, standing there all pressed up against Vecchio and listening to two guys having sex in the next room. As it was he could see his own breath coming faster, little trails of heat disappearing into the cold, wet air. After a minute he dared to find the hem of the sweater and slip his hands up underneath, splaying them open across the small of Vecchio's back, feeling the heat of him through his shirt. Vecchio shivered. It could have just been that Ray's hands were still chilly, but maybe, god, maybe it wasn't.

"What if they come out here?" he made himself ask. "Neither of us are exactly a quick draw like this."

"They won't."

"How do you know? Please tell me you're not just standing in a sight line."

"No, but I can see the rack of pots and pans on the wall shaking in time," said Vecchio, sounding pained.

"Oh. Better you than me," he said. Vecchio thumped him in the side with one gloved hand.

"Thanks a lot."

They fell silent again. Now that he was facing away from the wind, icy slush was dripping down the back of Ray's neck and under the collar of his jacket. At least his boots hadn't started leaking. He was cold everywhere, though, except where his hands were slowly warming up against Vecchio's back. He wanted to bury his face in the green scarf, which looked soft and expensive up close, wanted to see if he could feel the heat of Vecchio's skin through it, maybe smell his cologne.

After a few minutes his hands actually felt normal again. He flexed them a little, feeling the material of Vecchio's shirt under his fingertips. Vecchio turned his head so he could speak directly into Ray's ear.

"There you go," he murmured, in this low, velvety voice that Ray had never heard before. "Does that feel good?" And fuck, there went Ray's shot at not getting an erection, mob porn soundtrack or not.

"Oh my god, really?" he managed, because he'd been wanting this for months, waiting and watching and trying not to misinterpret this time, and Vecchio waited to pull out the seduction voice until they were trapped in an ice storm on some mobster's back porch?

"Hey, you're still standing here," said Vecchio, but he sounded a little less sure of himself. 

"Hell yes I'm still standing here," said Ray. He pushed forward, closing what was left of the space between them so that Vecchio could feel just exactly how much he was on board with this. Vecchio made a strangled sound and his hands closed on Ray's hips, pulling him in even tighter to grind hard against Vecchio's thigh. Ray realized that he'd clenched his fists in the back of Vecchio's shirt without even noticing it.

"Could your timing be any worse?" said Vecchio, still right in his ear. 

" _My_ timing?"

"I want to blow you," said Vecchio, and Ray groaned and dropped his face into Vecchio's scarf. "Can I blow you? I'm a quick learner, I'll make it good."

"You can do anything you want," Ray told him fervently.

"I want-" Vecchio stopped and swallowed hard. Ray could feel it. "I want you to _touch_ me," he said finally. The smooth tone was gone; he sounded rough, almost scared. "I just-"

He cut himself off again when Ray yanked the back of his shirt out of his pants, because there was no way he wasn't getting his hands on Vecchio's skin that instant, never mind that it was just the small of his back. It was the only place they were actually touching, despite the fact that Ray was practically riding Vecchio's thigh. What he really wanted was to go the other direction, just shove his hands right down the back of Vecchio's pants, but _mobster's back porch in a snowstorm_.

Vecchio's grip on his hips tightened convulsively. It might have been painful if there hadn't been a million layers between them, but with Vecchio's gloves and Ray's jeans and jacket in the way it just meant he could feel it, feel how tightly Vecchio was hanging onto him, and that was good. Ray wanted to kiss him but the damn scarf was still up over Vecchio's mouth, and no way was he moving his hands to get it. He ran them up and down instead, feeling Vecchio's skin smooth and hot, running fingers over the bumps of his spine and up to sweep over the very bottom of his shoulderblades, which was as high as he could reach. Vecchio shivered again, and then said,

"Fuck," in an entirely different voice, and took half a step back. The sudden space between them was cold.

"What is it?"

"They're done," said Vecchio, nodding toward the house, and gently disentangled them. Ray sank back to his spot against the wall, feeling off-balance and freezing and way too turned on to do any kind of police work. Next to him Vecchio had his head tipped back, breathing hard.

It seemed like a million years before they finally heard Fermano's car pulling out of the driveway. Vecchio tugged his scarf down around his neck, caught Ray's hands in his- the gloves were cold and wet around Ray's fingers, but he didn't much care- and brought them to his lips for the briefest second.

"Later," he said. That sweet, low voice was back, and his breath on Ray's knuckles felt like the only warm thing in the world.

"Yeah," said Ray, and followed him inside.


End file.
